


Love to See You Happy

by SpaceMatriarchy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Conventions, Doctor Sexy M.D. (Supernatural), Karaoke, Love Triangles, M/M, Polyamory, SPN Genre Bingo, Supernatural Creation Conventions, heavily inspired by:, like a reverse two person love triangle (three person double date?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceMatriarchy/pseuds/SpaceMatriarchy
Summary: Sam and Dean have been saving for months to drive out to Colorado for Salute to Doctor Sexy Denver - or DenCon. More than anything, Dean's looking forward to meeting his long time fanwork collaborator, best friend, and secret crush, Cee, for the first time.Only when they get there, Cee just happens to be Castiel Novak, Sam's co-worker and, yes, also secret crush.Sam just has to not embarrass himself, keep it professional, and get his brother and his co-worker to hook up, all while pretending he hasn't read Castiel's kinky slashfic. Should be a piece of cake, right?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	Love to See You Happy

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the SPN Genre Bingo. Square: Convention.  
Thanks to daydreaming_scribe and belabee for betas!  
I set this story at a convention in Colorado for plot reasons, but if any of my readers have ever been to the Westin Bayshore in Vancouver, that's the hotel I was thinking of. Obviously, this is heavily based on the Supernatural cons, but most of the actors mentioned aren't meant to be one to one equivalents for any of the actors from Supernatural or Grey's Anatomy - except that Rob Benedict kind of makes an uncredited cameo and Steve Bacic, who is the real Dr. Sexy.  
Title from Robbi Spencer's "I Love to See You Happy" - as heard in the episode Changing Channels.  
Thanks for reading!  
UPDATE 29/2/20: So Steve Bacic's first Creation Entertainment con appearance has just been announced and I would like to assure you all that I will use this gift of prophecy wisely.

**The Work Week**

Dean had been asking his brother to take this particular Friday off for almost six weeks. Sam had, like clockwork, told his brother to fuck right off. And at T minus like 36 hours until Dean was due to take off on the six hour (or, the way Dean drove, four hour) drive to Denver, Sam held firm.

“I have a job, Dean,” Sam said, without looking up from the file he was reading at the kitchen table. Dean plopped down into the chair opposite, cold leftover pizza in hand.

“So do I. I also know how to call out sick,” Dean said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sam laughed bitterly.

“I’m just saying, they can’t give you fifteen days off a year, or whatever, then punish you for taking them,” Dean said around a mouthful of pizza. “That’s gotta be illegal or something.”

“Welcome to the post-recession job market,” Sam deadpanned, without looking up.

“C’mon, man,” Dean pleaded, changing tactics. “ Don’t make me go alone.”

“You’ll be alone for one day, Dean,” Sam said. “I’m not putting my job on the line for a soap opera convention.”

“Excuse me?” Dean sputtered. Sam kept his eyes down but could almost imagine him trying not to choke on his food, and he smiled to himself. “Soap opera? You fucking  _ heathen.” _

“I love  _ Doctor Sexy _ as much as the next guy, but I know a melodrama when I see it,” Sam said.

Dean huffed. “Fine,” he spat. He stood and tossed the pizza box, and with it, the last slice, down onto the table in front of Sam. The box slid and scattered none too few of his papers, documents that needed to be on a more senior attorney’s desk first thing the next morning.

“Come on!” Sam cried. He moved the box and started reorganizing the mess. “You’ll get pizza grease on everything!”

“You’re too much of a bitch to tell the bigwigs you want one day off,” Dean said, opening the fridge. 

Sam spun in his chair to look at his brother, still framed by the fridge door. “And you’re not being a bitch about being alone for like five hours?” Sam asked, incredulously.

“Yes!” Dean replied. “Man, there’s nothing skeevier than being a dude, alone, hanging out in a room full of two thousand desperate women.”

“So hang out with Cee!” Sam spat, referring to Dean’s online bestie. 

That weekend would be the first time Cee and Dean had met up in meatspace (and God, did Sam hate it when Dean called it “meatspace”). Having spent the last eight months ending every day with chatter about “Cee said…” and “I was telling Cee…” Sam was shocked Dean wasn’t jumping on the opportunity to bond with the guy alone.

“If it’s just me and Cee, everyone’s gonna assume we’re gay,” Dean said.

“ _ You are, though, _ ” Sam complained. 

Dean threw up his hands. “Technically, I’m not,” he rebutted. “And… and you know what I mean. He gets to be gay over there, by himself, and I get to be bi over here, by myself. If we’re the only two queer dudes in a fandom--”

“Two of three,” Sam interrupted.

“You’re on thin fuckin’ ice, kiddo,” Dean said. “You know what I mean. Two queer dudes hang out together, people assume they’re  _ together.” _

Something clicked into place in Sam’s mind. “Is that it?” He asked, a smile spreading across his face. “Because you’d just  _ hate that _ , would you?”

“Yes,” Dean said, and slammed the refrigerator door.

_ “Oh, I’m sorry, sir,”  _ Sam crooned in a faux-feminine voice, with the measured, ass kissing tone of customer service.  _ “We misread your reservation, we seem to have put you and your husband in a king suite…” _

“Quit it,” Dean said, glaring daggers. Sam would  _ not. _

_ “Oh, you aren’t married? I’m so sorry, sir, but our double rooms are all sold out - there’s a convention in our hotel this weekend, you know…” _

“You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’ve read that exact fanfic set up half a dozen times,” Sam replied. “Don’t pretend part of you isn’t hoping to get somewhere with your secret internet crush.”

“He doesn’t date, Sam,” Dean said. “Even if I was in love with him-- and, by the way, you wanna play that game?”

Sam’s heart sunk to his stomach, but he put on a brave face.

“Maybe you don’t wanna skip work because the office is the only place that you get to make dumb goo goo eyes at  _ your _ secret little crush, Sam,” Dean said, almost with malice under his voice. “And man, if an internet crush is pathetic? An office crush must be rock fuckin’ bottom.”

“One, you’re dead wrong,” Sam said. “And two, fuck off.” He pointedly returned to his reading.

“Just speaking truth to power, Sammy,” Dean said.

“Internet crushes are sadder than office crushes, nobody agrees with you, and I’ve got work to do.”

A bottle hit the table just clear of Sam’s papers. He looked up.

“Eat your dinner,” Dean said, with the barest hint of a smile. “You’re gettin’ too skinny. Never gonna win over Mr. Novak’s dick with a bony ass like that.”

Sam smiled in spite of himself. “You’re an asshole.”

Dean shot him a wink and finger guns.   
  


Sam was exhausted. He stared into the shaded window of the break room microwave, the deep, buzzing drone lulling him out of his conscious mind as his leftover pizza spun hypnotically inside.

Absently, he heard the tapping of feet on the tile as someone entered the room behind him. 

“Good afternoon, Sam,” the man said, a low, rough voice. 

_ Oh, jeez, _ Sam thought. He blinked a few times, pushing himself into wakefulness. “Hey.”

Hey. Shit.  _ Fuck. _

Castiel Novak wasn’t Sam’s boss, hadn’t been there long enough to be, exactly, top of the food chain, but that didn’t stop him from seeming absolutely untouchable to Sam. Sam would guess Castiel had six or seven years on him, and that was more than enough to have put him a few rungs up the ladder. His considered, measured tone and absolute, unflinching calm made him a formidable presence in any court room, and his bright eyes and strong jaw, beauty he didn’t even seem aware of, certainly didn’t hurt.

He made Sam feel like a high school freshman infatuated with a teacher.

“Uh, hi, Castiel,” Sam managed to spit out, brain still thrown for a loop.

Castiel put a black coffee mug with the firm’s logo in the appropriate alcove of the overly complicated coffee machine, and started pressing buttons. “How are things?” He asked Sam.

Sam nodded, still staring at the microwave. It took him half a second to remember he had to use his  _ words.  _ “Good,” he said. “Good. How are you?”

Castiel hummed. “As ever.”

Sam nodded again.

“How’s discovery going, for Adler’s project?” Castiel asked. 

Listening to him made Sam feel warm, and solid. It was exciting. But talking  _ to  _ Castiel made him feel like his tongue was much too big for his mouth. Like he had, verbally speaking, two left feet. Like he was too dumb to be allowed out in public.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “L… long. Lots of documents.”

“As in lots to go over, or as in opposing counsel is trying to drown us in paper?” Castiel asked. 

Sam hummed. “Six of one, half dozen of the other?” He offered.

Castiel laughed, a little huff of air out his nose, accompanied with a faint smile. Sam flushed.

“Just looking forward to the weekend, I guess,” Sam said. “Could use the rest.”

Castiel hummed in agreement, and tapped the buttons on the coffee machine again. He removed his own mug and replaced it with a paper cup from a stack on the counter. “Me, too.”

Sam tried not to smile too obviously, and failed. He ducked his head to hide it. “Only two more days, huh?””

“Oh, not even,” Castiel said. “I’m off on Friday.”

“Oh?”

“I’m taking a personal day for an event,” Castiel explained. The coffee machine finished spurting into the paper cup, and he paused to retrieve it and offer it to Sam. When his surprise passed, Sam took it with numb fingers, and the heat of it in his hands soothed him, somehow.

“A networking sort of thing,” Castiel continued. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

Sam hummed as he sipped from the paper cup. It burnt the roof of his mouth, but he didn’t dare complain. “That’s funny,” he said, half to himself. “My brother’s trying to get me to take off work to go to an event with him that day.”

“Will you?”

“No, no, I couldn’t,” Sam said. “I can’t just take off whenever I feel like.”

“Why not?” Castiel asked.

Why not? Because… well,  _ because _ , right? Sam puzzled over the question for a long minute.

“How long have you been here?” Castiel continued. “And I’ve never seen you leave early. You come in when you’re sick, you come in on Saturdays, if you’re asked. You get everything done on time, even when the timeline isn’t reasonable. Why can’t you take a personal day?”

Sam sputtered. “Well, there’s just too much to do, right?”

Castiel shrugged, clearly thinking on it as he took a sip of coffee. “There’s always too much to do,” he said. “It’s admirable that you work so hard, Sam, but don’t forget that you’re providing the firm a service you’re contracted and paid for - they’re not doing you a favour letting you work unpaid overtime. You shouldn’t be asked to be on call 24/7, and if you only ever say yes, the higher ups will learn that they never have to offer you what you’re worth. Don’t lose your freedom and self to benefit a corporation.”

Sam was gobsmacked. It took him a moment to process, utterly unaccustomed to hearing that kind of talk from anyone in law, let alone his own superiors. Hell, he hadn’t heard anything like that since hanging out with socialists in college. He almost wondered if it was a trap, to catch dirty unionizing traitors, but then he remembered that he didn’t work at Walmart anymore, and he was a real lawyer, now, and that he  _ knew,  _ somehow, that Castiel wouldn’t do that to him.

“That’s… that’s very progressive of you,” Sam mumbled. “I wish that was a more common opinion, around here.”

Castiel checked his watch, and pushed off the counter. “I have to go take a call,” he said. “But, Sam?”

“Yeah?” Sam asked, mouth dry.

“Remember to keep time for yourself, and if anybody troubles you about it, send them to me,” Castiel said, still the ever concerned mentor. Then, though, something softened in his face, and he smiled, catching Sam’s eye. “Enjoy your weekend.”

A smile. Castiel smiled. At Sam.

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Y-you too!” Sam half-shouted, as Castiel was already mostly gone from the break room.

**Friday**

And so it went that mid morning on Friday, one state over, Sam walked into an airport-side, faux-fancy hotel and convention center with a weekend’s supply of clothes in his backpack and a carefully curated folder of printed out tickets and confirmation numbers tucked under his arm. Side by side, of course, with Dean, who carried a duffel bag containing a second pair of underwear, three t shirts, and seemingly endless snacks.

Sam was pretty sure Dean didn’t have to worry about being perceived as a creep only there to seduce other members of the predominantly female  _ Doctor Sexy _ fandom. He’d be lucky if his two week strong unwashed jeans and atrociously corny tee shirts featuring quotes from the show didn’t make him utterly, painfully unfuckable for the rest of eternity.

Didn’t stop him from smiling all sweet at the front desk clerk as they checked in and collected their room keys. Didn’t stop the front desk clerk from smiling back and giving them extra breakfast vouchers. 

Though, Sam thought, there was really only one person Dean probably really wanted to seduce this weekend - barring Dr. Sexy himself. The brothers hovered in the corner of the lobby as Dean bent over his phone, furiously texting with a pause, every now and then, to look around like a kid who lost their mom at the grocery store.

“He’s not answering?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “These hotels always have crap reception.”

“So why are you so worried?”

Dean paused, and then looked up. He seemed not to have even realized he  _ was _ stressed. He grumbled to himself a little, straightened up, and pointedly shoved his phone into his back pocket. Not having it in his hand, at least, would keep him from checking it every twelve seconds.

“He’s here somewhere,” Sam offered as comfort.

“Yeah, somewhere…” Dean mumbled. “C’mon, let’s drop off our bags and come back to register, I don’t wanna be caught in that line when the traffic gets heavy.”

Dean was already starting towards the elevator, and Sam trailed wordlessly after him. There was an extremely short moment of disappointment for him - he was really looking forward to meeting this dude Dean had been chatting with on the fan forums for more than a year, now, since they’d been paired up for the fandom’s big bang challenge. He seemed cool, and Dean loved collaborating with him on fan works, and--

Castiel Novak was standing in front of the elevator.

_ Castiel fucking Novak was standing in front of the elevator. _

Sam almost choked on his tongue. He grabbed Dean’s sleeve and dove out of sight, corralling them both behind a decorative barrier separating the bank of elevators from the rest of the lobby.

“Ow!” Dean shouted.

“Shut up,” Sam hissed.

“What the  _ fuck?”  _ Dean growled at him.

“That’s-- I work with that guy. There’s a guy here I work with,” Sam stammered. “That’s him. That’s Castiel.”

Dean’s anger melted into surprise, and then, horribly, excitement. Sam did not trust the look on his face. “Castiel’s here?” He asked, a smile spreading across his face. “Really?”

Sam dared to peek around the barrier, just for a moment, and take in the sight of his not-boss, not-peer, shouldn’t-be-office-crush. He rested one hand on the handle of a suitcase, and in his other was his cellphone, as he typed, head down. He wore a black blazer that wouldn't have been out of place at the law firm, but with jeans and a tee shirt featuring the face of Dr. Wang, that Sam distinctly remembered as a perk from a charity drive the character’s actress had done two years previous. To top it all off - cowboy boots. Castiel was wearing fucking cowboy boots because  _ fuck Sam’s life _ .

He was a fan.

“He’s here for the convention,” Sam said, shell shocked.

Dean’s grin grew so wide, Sam thought it’s pop his damn dimples off his face. “You need to go talk to him,” Dean said.

_ “No,” _ Sam insisted. “He can’t know I’m here, he can’t know I’m.. I’m…”

“A fan?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a fan,” Dean said. “What’s the problem? He’s not gonna judge you.”

Sam glared daggers at his brother. “Yeah, sure, Dean,” he said. “I’ll just walk right up? ‘Good morning, Mr. Novak, good to see you, I’d love to discuss the possibility of supporting your cases more directly and maybe coming along to court, and  _ have you seen my brother’s erotic gay fan art?’” _

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by the chirp of his text tone in his back pocket. He took it out and unlocked it, eyes scanning the notification he’d received, and his eyes widened.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean said, and nothing more. He looked up, peeked around Sam at the elevators and the blockade of social awkwardness keeping Sam and Dean from their room, and then he repeated himself.  _ “Holy shit, Sam.” _

_ “What?”  _ Sam asked again.

Dean walked away. Dean rounded the corner, making a beeline for the elevators, and though he tried, Sam couldn’t catch his arm again before he was out of reach. Panic rising in his chest, Sam ducked himself back behind the barrier, told himself Castiel didn’t know Dean, at least, couldn’t connect Sam to him unless Dean was enough of a douche to actually say it out loud.

Sam was not confident Dean wasn’t enough of a douche to actually say it out loud.

“Cee?” Sam heard Dean ask.

“Dean!”

His blood ran cold.

Sam bent around the barrier once again, and his not-boss, not-peer office crush was hugging it out with his brother like they were long lost childhood friends. 

The panic part of his brain had clearly had enough, because the ‘what the fuck’ part of his brain took over and numbed him to the terror of the entire situation. When Dean announced to ‘Cee’ that he wanted to introduce his brother, and waved at Sam to join them, he could only wander, bleary eyed, out from his hiding place and toward the two men. In a pleasant case of the shoe hopping right over to the other foot, Sam numbly watched realization, then horror take Castiel’s face when he saw him coming. Sam had half an urge to laugh. He crushed it.

“Hey…” Sam said weakly, when he reached them.

“Sam,” Castiel said, like his thoughts began and ended with that one word. And, yeah, same, Sam thought.

“Oh? Do you two know each other?” Dean asked. Sam glared at him. ‘Shit eating’ didn’t even begin to describe the look on Dean’s face.

“Sam and I are at the same firm,” Castiel explained, clearly undergoing the slow process of trying to put his brain back in order. “I… when you said you were going to an event, I didn’t think…”

“‘Networking event’?” Sam asked.

Castiel flushed, and his eyes shot down. “I’m not obligated to explain my whereabouts outside of business hours,” he said. “It wasn’t technically a lie.”

“Oh, no,” Sam said, instantly regretting the question, not having meant to embarrass Castiel like that. “Of course you’re not. Hey, I didn’t tell you, either.”

“Hm,” Castiel hummed, side stepping the conversation.

“So, Castiel?” Dean asked. “That’s what ‘Cee’ stands for?”

Castiel nodded. “It’s not a common name, I’m sure you can see why an initial makes it easier to maintain some anonymity online.”

“Dude, that’s a badass name, though,” Dean said. “Most people would probably think it was fake anyway.”

Something about that seemed to take Castiel out of his thoughts. He blinked up at Dean, and slowly, a small smile pulled at his mouth.

“It’s very good to finally meet you in person, Dean,” he said softly. “I only wish I’d known we lived so close to one another all along. I’m surprised we hadn’t been to any of the same conventions before.”

Dean smiled back. “Better late than never,” he said. He handed Castiel one of the three plastic key cards they’re received at the front desk. “Room 1223. After you.”

The three of them filed into the elevator, and Sam curled in his shoulders to keep from pressing against Castiel in the small space as they rode up to the 12th floor. Castiel stared silently up at the display indicating the floor, number rising as the elevator climbed, and Dean, bastard that he was, was leaning back against the rail with a boyish grin on his face, clearly amused.

Fuck you, you little shit.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, and the three of them filed right on back out. They found their room, all decked out in the most exciting shades of beige and with that unplaceable hotel room scent.

“So, what’re the sleeping arrangement, you think, fellas?” Dean asked, still surveying the room with his hands on his hips like he was looking over a vast, fertile plot of land. “I mean, I kick. And snore. So I’m sure you wouldn’t want to share a bed with me, Cee.”

Sam almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wouldn’t-- why would Cee sleep with either of us?” He asked, then half caught himself on what felt like the wrong name to be using. “I mean, Castiel. Dean and I shared beds as kids, it’s not weird.”

“Of course it’s not weird,” Dean said. “But, y’know, whatever you two feel like--”

“Castiel, which bed do you want?” Sam asked, cutting his brother off. 

Castiel looked between them, a little lost, but also a little amused. “Um,” he mumbled. “I have no preference. Window, maybe?”

“Great!” Dean exclaimed, and tossed his backpack onto the bed nearest the door. “No pressure, Sam.”

Sam turned to give his brother the fiercest death glare he could manage. Without dropping his goofy ass look, Dean just shrugged, unzipping his bag and started to unload the snacks. Sam was gonna fucking murder him. He determinedly threw his own bag onto the bed beside Dean’s.

Meanwhile, Castiel had dragged his suitcase onto the other bed and opened it up, extracting a toiletries bag. “Do you mind if I…?” He asked, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Sam said, and he watched from the corner of his eye until Castiel shut the door behind him.

“What the hell?” Sam hissed at Dean.

Dean leaned back, feigning offense, but badly - he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Sammy, please,” he said. “I can smell your breath from back here, thank you very much.”

“He’s my  _ boss,  _ Dean,” Sam said.

“No he’s not,” Dean said with a dismissive hand wave. “C’mon, Sam, how many chances are you gonna get to play ‘oh no, there’s only one bed’ with your unattainable fantasy boyfriend?”

Sam scoffed. “Okay, first of all, he’s  _ your _ unattainable fantasy boyfriend,” he said. “Second, it’s not ‘only one bed’ when there’s no damn reason to be sharing with him. It’s just sexual harassment.”

Dean sighed. “Well, you can’t just leave the opportunity to get cozy with him on the table,” he said. “Do  _ something.” _

“Dean,” Sam said, sternly. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m going to shut up and make every effort to survive this weekend with as little interaction with Castiel Novak as possible. So I can not get fired and not get outed at work as the kind of person who goes to fucking  _ Doctor Sexy, MD. _ fan conventions. Leave. It. Alone.”

Dean casually slapped one of Sam’s hands away. “Just saying, Sammy,” he said, pulling out his three t-shirts and tossing them onto the covers. “You’re wasting a golden opportunity.”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Sam said. He rolled his shoulders, as if the discomfort that had worked itself deep into his bones was something he could just shake off.

They rode the elevator back down to the convention registration in as awkward a silence as they’d ridden up. Dean and Castiel chatted amicably as they made their way through the registration line to get their badges and wristbands, and ambled around the vendor’s area as they waited for the ballroom doors to open for the opening ceremonies. They talked about people Sam had never heard of, with odd names suggesting they were people Castiel and Dean knew only by screennames. 

_ “Oh, did you see that Socks posted…” “I was DMing with Sketchy…” “I heard that Halz…” _

Sam was no stranger to the variation of the English language that was used on fansites, but somehow seeing his own brother and co-worker code switch like that, and in verbal conversation, sent him for a bit of a loop.

Castiel was seated a few rows ahead of Sam and Dean, two sections over, so that when they settled into their chairs Sam knew, in his mind, exactly where Castiel was, but couldn’t see him. It was unnerving. It kind of haunted Sam, a chill up his spine, through the opening ceremonies and the first stage talk. Like he was being watched. 

Like he was still at work, listening to panel videos while doing data entry and sure he’d get shit for it if he was caught. Jesus Christ.

It was almost a relief when the first actress on stage thanked the audience and waved goodbye as she disappeared behind the thick black curtain. The audio tech came on the mic and announced that they would be starting the trivia contest soon, as 9/10ths of the audience got up and started to file out.

“Yo, Cee!” Dean cried across the block of chairs, as he saw Castiel shuffling out with the crowd. Castiel found him in the chaos, raising his eyebrows. “Karaoke! You in?”

“Okay!” Castiel called back.

“What song?” Dean asked.

Castiel just shrugged, making a face in Dean’s general direction like it was a ridiculous question to expect him to answer. Spotting a clear row, he sidled awkwardly through, across the join Sam and Dean in the opposite aisle.

“If you don’t speak up, you can’t complain about what I pick,” Dean said, when Castiel reached them.

“That’s fine, Dean,” Castiel replied. 

Sam followed Dean out into the aisle, as Dean started eyeing the back of the room nervously. A small crowd was forming where they’d set up a small folding table for karaoke sign ups.

“Shit, okay, I’m gonna make a run for it,” Dean said, slapping Sam on the arm. “Grab me some lunch, ok?”

And without another word, Dean was running off into the crowd, awkwardly bobbing and weaving around clusters of women in his path. That left Sam and Castiel alone together in the din of the crowded room, and suddenly that was way, way too much for Sam to manage. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, not really sure what to do or say next.

“Lunch, then?” Castiel asked, breaking the silence. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Um, I guess,” Sam mumbled. “Unless you have a photo op, or…”

“No, I’m free,” Castiel said. “Lunch it is.”

Sam nodded numbly. “Lunch,” he repeated.

They joined the weakened flow of people trickling out of the ballroom, moved through the ever-crowded vendor’s hall and out a side door where they passed a gaggle of smokers getting a puff in before the next stage talk. The road the hotel was on wasn’t exactly downtown, but there were business clustered along its length. If they wandered along long enough, Sam was sure they’d come across somewhere he could grab Dean a burger and fries to eat during the next event.

He didn’t feel that hungry, himself. Sam felt like if he ate, he’d have to go back to the room and lie down. If he didn’t throw it up, first.

“Are you enjoying the convention so far?” Castiel asked, as they walked.

Sam shrugged. He figured he was - but his mind was half somewhere else. “Yeah,” he said, instead. “Yeah, these things are great.”

“Have you been to many?”

“Five or six. Dean’s been going a little longer,” Sam explained. “He stayed with me at school, in California, when he went to the one in San Francisco a few years back. I started watching the show, and we’d talk about it… It was just something that kept us close, even when I couldn’t stay living at home with him.”

Castiel nodded sagely. “He’s mentioned,” he said. “He talks about you a lot, you know. I just never realized his Sam and my Sam--”

He seemed to interrupt himself. Caught mid-sentence by the awareness of a slip of the tongue. And Castiel wasn't lucky enough for Sam to not notice. 

“Your Sam?” He asked.

Castiel straightened up, shifted his shoulder like he was about to walk into a boardroom to give a presentation. “The Sam that I knew,” he said tersely. “Of course. I hadn’t realized you were one and the same, is all.”

“Hm,” Sam hummed. “It must be weird, for you. Having to be two people.”

Castiel looked at Sam and cocked his head. “How so?”

“It’s just weird to hear Dean call you Cee, and in my mind there’s this half-step of translation to go through, because you’re Mr. Novak, right?” Sam asked.

Castiel almost shivered. “Who calls me Mr. Novak?” He asked. “You don’t call me that.”

“Not, like, to your face,” Sam laughed, chest tight. “But, you know. The receptionists. A few of the paralegals. Formal contexts.”

Castiel sighed, tucked his hands into the pockets of his blazer.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“I don’t live in an environment where frivolity is acceptable,” Castiel said. “I didn’t grow up in one, either. My life as a fan is exclusively online, and at events like these. I go to a few every year, it’s just the only time I don’t feel like I’m wearing a mask. I have friends at work. I know people like me. But sometimes I wonder if it’s more the curated version of myself that people like.”

Sam regarded him carefully. “And if I may,” he said softly. “I’d never gotten the impression you were gay - or bi, or whatever. But given your fanfiction, I assume...”

Castiel nodded. “Not a big secret, but yes,” he said. “It’s, uh, this job doesn’t leave a lot of time or energy for dating. Fictional men don’t get upset if you cancel dates four times in a row to work late. And they don’t assume it means you’re fucking a secretary.”

Sam laughed. “A grim premonition for my future,” he mused.

“Get out now,” Castiel said, fully deadpan, eyes forward. “You won’t pay off your student loans either way.”

Sam walked along, head down, consumed in thought for the next few minutes. 

“You don’t…” he began, then stopped. 

“Yes?” Castiel asked.

Sam didn’t want to finish the thought, but he sighed and carried on regardless. “You don’t like your job, much,” he said. “It’s not really you.”

Castiel looked away, taking the time to consider. He looked sad, Sam thought. He wondered if maybe he always had, and Sam had just never taken the time to notice. 

“It is, though,” Castiel said carefully. “It’s a  _ part _ of me, certainly. I like being able to help. I like finding ways to use my education and my privilege to help fix some of the lives the system breaks. I just wish, sometimes, that I could be both people. Not always hiding one half from the other.”

It struck Sam that Castiel was so familiar, even in this new variation he was getting to know. That Castiel was, in many ways, exactly who Sam wished to be, someday. Which is why it was such a punch to the gut to realize… Castiel was deeply unhappy. Not really depressed. Not miserable. But unsatisfied, down to his core.

Lonely, maybe.

“I get it,” Sam said, and he meant it.

Castiel looked up, still a little sad, still like he wasn’t quite sure. “Do you ever feel that way?” He asked.

“Honestly? Not anymore,” Sam said. “Maybe I could feel less, I don’t know, ashamed or whatever… but Doctor Sexy is one way I’ve kept connected with my brother, and that makes it part of the most important relationship in my life. I understand, I think - I’ve been lonely like that - but it’s easy not to feel lonely when I go home and get to be part of the fandom just by being with Dean, hearing about all his friends.”

Castiel smiled. “Not downplayed, but not all escapism,” he said. “Something in between.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Sam said.

“That sounds… that sounds very nice,” Castiel said, with surprising softness. Sam felt it somewhere inside, like Castiel’s suddenly approachable warmness was melting him, too.

“I guess we both have someone in between, now,” he said, and felt like he was walking a tightrope. Castiel glanced over at him, brows knit in confusion. 

“Well,” Sam continued. “It’s hard to think of you as Cee when I know you’re Mr. Novak.”

“Which I’m not,” Castiel interrupted. “But go on.”

“But you’re not Mr. Novak, here, when you’re Cee. So you get to be in between, now, right?” Sam asked. “Or you at least get to try it out.”

“I guess so,” Castiel said, and then was pensively quiet for a long moment. After some time, when the steady rhythm of their walking had lulled Sam out of the conversation (had they started walking in synch? Was that weird? Should he deliberate change it up or would that be noticable?), he spoke again. 

“Some of my friends call me Cas,” Castiel said.

Something in between Castiel and Cee.

Sam smiled. Twisting his body, he reached out a hand towards the other man. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Cas,” Sam said.

Cas took Sam’s hand in a firm grasp and shook it. “And I, you, Sam,” he said.

Dean slapped the full litre of Jack Daniels down on the TV stand and stepped back, spreading his hands like a magician who had just pulled the bottle out of thin air.  _ Voila _ , he seemed to say.  _ This is what providing for my family looks like. _

“You brought one change of underwear but you had space for that?” Sam asked, from his seat on the bed. He was wiggling out of his shoes to change for the night’s festivities, which ran hotter and higher energy than the daytime stage talks.

“Priorities, Sammy,” Dean said. “The key with karaoke is to chug, right before doors open, so it doesn’t--”

“So it doesn’t hit you hard enough before you go in that they kick you out, but it keeps you smashed-to-buzzed for the full two hours,” Sam said, reciting Dean’s reasoning as easily as if he were reading from a teleprompter. “I know.”

“It’s a solid strategy,” Cas said, from his spot leaning against the railing on the balcony. He had a lit  _ something _ in his hand that he was smoking, and Sam had never known him to step out for a cigarette during the day - even if the sweet, musky smell hadn’t been a dead giveaway. It felt like finding out your teacher did the occasional line of coke to get through grading papers. 

“It’s excessive,” Sam mumbled finally managing to pop his other boot off his foot.

“It hasn’t been the same since they stopped serving alcohol in the evenings,” Cas said. “It was different, then.”

“It was  _ awesome,”  _ Dean half-moaned. He wandered off into the bathroom and returned with two clear, plastic-wrapped cups.

Castiel squinted, and waved his hand in a ‘so-so’ kind of gesture.

“No?” Sam asked.

“There was a reason they stopped,” Cas explained. “It was probably for the best.”

“Fucking  _ Dallas,”  _ Dean growled. 

Cas hummed around his joint, held it for a moment, and blew out a lungful of thin white smoke. “Agreed.”

Dean delivered a little plastic cup, with a generous serving of booze, into Sam’s hand, before carrying the other cup and the bottle across the room to the balcony, gifting a serving to Castiel, too. He dropped himself into one of the noisy metal chairs and took a swig directly from the bottle. Sam caught the ghost of a smile pull at Cas’ cheek.

Cas blew another puff of smoke out of his nose, and wordlessly offered the joint to Dean. Dean accepted. He took a toke while Cas had a sip - trading vices like baseball cards. 

“Thanks, man,” Dean said around a cough, handing it back.

It was hard to believe they’d only met a few hours ago. Though, Sam had to admit, when exactly they’d “met” was only a matter of technicality. Cas had been Dean’s best friend for a while, now. Talked about him as much as anyone he knew in real life. For a time, after that fateful big bang and before Sam had finally come home from California, he’d been the first person Dean spoke to in the morning, and the last person he spoke to at night.

And Dean should  _ go for it, _ Sam thought.

They lived in the same city. They had common interests. They had common acquaintances, as it turned out. Sure, if they broke up Sam could be super fucked, professionally speaking, but he didn’t believe Cas was the kind of guy who’d hold his brother’s actions against him.

Sam liked Castiel. A lot. But he hadn’t known him before that day, not really, and if Dean made him feel seen? Made him feel special? That was a thing too rare and precious to pass up.

They didn’t bother showing up early, Sam and Dean having always been pretty happy to mill around at the back of the crushing karaoke crowd, as a consideration to the many, much shorter women who made up the majority of the attendees. Castiel wasn’t used to it, used to being alone and, furthermore, his 5’11’’ stature wasn’t the absolute barrier that Sam was (especially if he and Dean were to form a blockade of big dudes). But away from the speakers, and the screaming, where everyone gave each other a few inches of personal space and one could hear one’s self think, they all agreed that was the best place for them as a group.

And better yet - if they’d been right up front, where ‘dancing’ was limited to a little swaying and bouncing, Sam wouldn’t have had the absolute privilege of watching straight laced, not-his-boss Castiel Novak, Attorney at Law, bust a fucking move to an eclectic playlist of top 40 hits of today and yesterday, definitely a little drunk and possibly more than a little bit high.

The single-layer tee shirt didn’t hurt, either. Sam may have decided that Dean had dibs, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a lovely sight.

It was sweet, really. Sam would say “cute” if it didn’t seem so inappropriate. Realizing how much of Cas had been hiding, all this time, a whole other person he’d glimpsed through his fanfiction, through Dean’s stories, but who was out and in control in that moment. He just looked so damn happy.

One girl was on stage with a few of the show’s C-list stars, belting out her rendition of “These Boots are Made for Walking”. As the song ended, the crowd roared. Two or three of the actors on stage came in for a hug, and one took the mic back from her, before, still beaming, she hopped down and ran right back to her excited friends. 

Jeff, who hadn’t been on the show for years but remained beloved just because he kept showing up to a con every other weekend, pulled a slip of paper from a bag at the back of the stage. He squinted at it, to read in the dimly lit room. “We’re looking for…” he said. “Dean, Sam, and… Cee?” 

Sam hadn’t quite processed it before Dean was slapping his arm. “Dude!” He shouted.

“Is that us?” Cas asked. 

“Who else is it gonna be?” Dean asked, already making his way around the bulk of the crowd. 

Cas brushed past Sam on his way to follow, and after a few steps, turned back. Sam still hadn’t moved, a little dumbstruck. “Aren’t you coming?” Cas asked.

“I’ve never been called up before,” Sam said.

Castiel smiled, and grabbed his hand. He dragged Sam, ducking and weaving through the crowd, not moving all that fast, but Sam still felt like he was about to trip over his own two, numb feet. At the side of the stage, Dean was waiting for them at the top of the four steps up. 

Mallory, an occasional guest star with a cult following, handed each of them a mic with a wide smile. “Good choice, fellas,” she said, patting Sam on the back.

Sam wandered, hand still limp in Castiel’s grip, towards the middle of the stage, where a little TV screen was positioned on the edge, between then and the crowd. In a bright, ugly Microsoft Paint style graphic, it displayed the words “Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond”.

“Seriously?” Sam asked, turning to admonish Dean over the top of Cas’ head.

Dean smirked at him, and waggled his eyebrows.

The woodwinds intro was already well underway, and Dean had to start start the lyrics before Sam was shaken out of his funk and let his eyes focus on the words on the screen. 

_ “-- and spring became the summer…”  _ he sang along.  _ “Who’d have believed you’d come along…” _

Sam looked out and realized, for what was truly the first time, that he was on stage in front of a few  _ hundred _ folks, with some of Hollywood’s finest bit part actors playing hype man for their little group. It was so surreal, made him feel a little breathless, a little giddy. Because how many times, in his life, was he really going to be standing here? With these people? All the people he’d truly come here to see - not just his celebrity idols, but his  _ community. _

He could see why Cas was in love with this.

_ “Hands… Touching hands…”  _ They sang together, as happiness bubbled up in Sam’s chest, and he found himself smiling around the words. He felt a hand on his shoulder, just holding on.  _ “Reaching out… touching me… touching you…” _

Cas, Sam saw in his peripheral vision and felt in the hand on his shoulder, hopped up and down in time with the beat between lines. 

_ “Sweet Caroline!” _

_ “Bah bah bah!” _ Dean wailed, leaning back and screaming into the mic.

_ Oh my God, _ Sam thought.

_ “Good times never seemed so good,” _ they all sang, again together, and Sam could hear the uncomfortable, low, off key voice Castiel was using. He wondered briefly if he was the only one on this stage who could carry a tune, but figured he was probably just as atrocious, and he started to laugh.

Sam laughed so long, absolutely breathless, and lost his voice to keep singing. He watched Cas and Dean go  _ hard _ on the old song, belting it out like they had no idea what they sounded like. Dean threw an arm around Cas’ middle and held him close to his side while they both bounced in time to the music. They were just in the moment, and the image of them brought light into Sam’s heart. 

Sam collapsed back onto the bed when they finally -  _ finally _ \- reached their room again. His lanyard bounced up and slapped him in the face. He couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.

It was so for past time for him to crash. Especially when they had photo ops in the morning. Especially when he was crashing from the karaoke induced adrenaline rush.

Shutting his eyes, Sam dozed off, part of the way. He could hear Dean and Cas puttering about the room, quiet muttering between them. He heard Dean kick off his boots and shuck off his jeans. Jesus Christ, he was really gonna just sleep in his boxers, wasn’t he? He really hadn’t bothered to bring any fucking pajama pants, when he was sharing a bed with Sam? Lazy fucking…

Something made heavy impact with Sam’s side, and he curled around it with a light, whiny groan. 

“Shove over, bitch,” Dean grumbled.

With what felt like a herculean effort, Sam hauled himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyes, stretched, and forced himself into some kind of wakefulness. Had to find his pajamas. Couldn’t just sleep in his clothes.

Cas wandered past, a bundle of clothes under his arm, paused to pick up and down a half-portion of whiskey that had been left on the TV stand earlier in the evening.

“Feeling okay, Cas?” Sam said, exhaustion in his voice.

Cas hummed in assent. Sam suppressed a chuckle. There was a little bit more of the Castiel he was used to - not unhappy, but tired.

Cas moved on into the bathroom and shut the door.

Sam took the opportunity to change. Unlike Dean, he’d kept some kind of head on his shoulders while packing, and had a pair of PJ pants and an old shirt he’d gotten in a student union swag bag back during his undergrad. He swapped clothes quickly, tucked his convention badge under the lamp on the nightstand, and gave only half a thought to waiting for Cas to return to brush his teeth. Instead, Sam shut out the ceiling light, and crawled under the covers to conk right out.

Dean had his back turned, still in the same tee shirt he’d worn all day. Lying still, breath steady, he was probably already asleep. Sam sunk into the pillows. He was out like a light, too. Relaxed. 

Until he felt a weight at the foot of the bed.

Sam turned to look, caught Dean doing the same. Castiel was sitting on the blankets, back to the brothers, as casual as if he were sitting on a park bench. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. It was like he’d forgotten where he was going, got lost halfway from the bathroom to his own bed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said softly, voice heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

It took a minute, and Cas half turned towards the sound. “This room is so cold,” he said.

“You want us to call down, see if housekeeping has extra blankets?” Dean asked.

Cas didn’t answer. He hummed quietly to himself, in thought. He turned the rest of the way around, getting onto his hands and knees at the foot of the bed, and crawled up into the space between Sam and Dean.

“Uh, Cas?” Sam asked.

“It’s too fucking cold,” Cas said. He dragged down the edge of the blanket and wiggled in underneath, before he relaxed in, head dropped awkwardly between the two pillows, and shut his eyes.

Sam didn’t move a muscle. He was  _ wide _ fucking awake, now.

Cas was on his belly, one shoulder brushing each Winchester in the suddenly very cramped queen size bed. His head was turned away from Sam, but their feet were touching under the blankets. Nobody fucking moved.

Sam made eye contact with Dean over Cas’ head, and Dean looked about as freaked out as Sam felt.

_ What the fuck?  _ Dean mouthed across the pillows.

_ I don’t know, _ Sam mouthed in response.

_ Seriously, what the fuck? _ Dean mouthed again.

Castiel let out a snore.

After some careful consideration, Sam figured he could risk the noise, and brought his volume up to a quiet whisper. “He’s super drunk,” he said.

“We’re all drunk, Sam, that doesn’t mean we don’t keep our hands to ourselves!” Dean hissed.

“He’s lonely, Dean,” Sam said softly.

Dean furrowed his brow, squinting at Sam. “What?” He whispered.

“He was telling me today,” Sam said. “He’s like, really, really closed off. He doesn’t have close friends offline, he doesn’t date.”

“What’s your point?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, rolling onto his back. Cas continued to snore.

“Sam?” Dean whispered.

“You should ask Cas out.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“Uh,” Dean began, voice coming up a little bit more, like he’d forgotten they were trying not to wake up the person literally in between them. “Come again?”

“He’s always been unattainable, but turns out, he’s been practically next door this whole time,” Sam replied. “You get him, like maybe nobody else does. You’d be  _ good _ for him.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Dean asked.

“No!” Sam said, about ready to throw his arms up and bail on the sinking ship that was the USS Bed Nearest the Bathroom.

“Because shit, Sammy, why me?” Dean asked. “You pretending like you’re suddenly not in love with the guy?”

A shiver ran down Sam’s spine. “Finding someone attractive and being  _ in love with them _ aren’t the same thing,” he said.

“Don’t bullshit me, Sam,” Dean said. “You’ve admired the guy since your first fucking day at that firm, and you’re a goddamn catch. You deserve him way more than I do.”

“It doesn’t matter who  _ deserves _ him, Dean, he’s not the toy in the cereal box--”

“Shh.”

The hush came from the limp body between Sam and Dean, muffled by the side of Dean’s pillow.

Oh, fucking  _ Jesus H. Christ. _

“Go to sleep,” Cas mumbled, and just like that, he was silent again.

Sam lay quietly, waiting to see if Dean would speak again, but for all the tension radiating across the bed, he was quiet, too. There would be no more discussion that night, he realized. Potentially, there’s be no more discussion, period, when Castiel awoke in the morning, remembered what he’d overheard, and promptly ran for the fucking hills, blocking Dean’s number and reporting Sam to HR.

He stared out at the eerie glow of artificial twilight seeping in around the curtains. All at once, Sam felt uncomfortably sober, horribly  _ awake _ , and all with the light press of Cas’ arm to his, Cas’ feet to his calves.

The room was too cold without someone to share the bed with. Castiel had been right.

Sam lay still in total awareness of each breath, snore, and shift from Cas and his brother. He fell, at long last, into a fitful sleep, the kind that left him unsure if he’d slept at all.

**Saturday**

Sam woke to the sound of the shower running. He was, thank God, the only person left in the bed by then, and a quick look around showed the curtains thrown open, showing off the balcony and the view beyond. Sitting on the concrete, against the railing, was a fully dressed, if barefoot, shape with a sweatshirt thrown over his head and a cup of shitty hotel room coffee cradled in his hands.

Sam sat up, stretched, and had some hefty thoughts as to whether he should take the risk of checking in with the mysterious individual in the shower (and therefore sneak in to brush his teeth, since his mouth tasted like unwashed ass), or checking in with the mysterious figure clearly nursing a hangover on the balcony. Either could be his brother. Either could be Castiel, who Sam was still pretty sure might murder him for whatever he thought happened the night before.

Sam got dressed in silence. He looked at his reflection in the full length closet mirror, ran his fingers through his hair. He realized he should shower that morning. He wasn’t totally sure he was gonna find the time, given his watch told him the hour was getting late, and he and Dean had a photo op at ten. He kinda looked like shit.

He was getting old enough to not feel invincible. He couldn't imagine how Dean managed the whole life-in-the-fast-lane act, with his extra four years of age.

Deciding he wasn’t gonna tiptoe around his own damn hotel room, Sam commandeered the one remaining single-serve coffee packet and brewed a cup for himself. He took it out to the open balcony door. The unplaceable drone of traffic and wind was even louder outside.

“Doesn’t the noise make it worse?” Sam asked the shrouded figure, as he sat in the rickety chair.

“The noises aren’t sharp,” Castiel said from under the sweatshirt. Damn it. Sam had bet the house on heads and the coin had come up tails. “The fresh air is worth the trade.”

“You getting any fresh air under there?” Sam asked with a laugh.

Cas tugged at the edge of the sweatshirt, pulling it only halfway off his face and squinting, hard, as one eye was revealed, exposed to the piercing light of mid-morning sun reflecting off neighbouring skyscrapers.

“I think I was very unprofessional last night,” Cas said, voice rough from the singing and screaming of the night before, and tight with the edge of his migraine pain. “I want to apologize for anything I may have said, any discomfort I may have caused.”

Sam blinked. “What?”

Cas blinked back. “Sorry?” He asked.

“Cas, you didn’t-- well,” Sam began, cutting himself off. “You did crawl into bed with us but it wasn’t  _ weird.  _ We knew you didn’t mean anything by it.”

It had absolutely been weird. But Sam was way weirder for letting him do it.

“Besides,” Sam continued. “It’s your weekend off. You’re not supposed to be professional.”

Cas nodded, seeming distant. “I… I appreciate that, Sam,” he said.

Sam smiled, and he hoped it was a bit of a comfort, like it smoothed over the impenetrable wall of awkwardness they’d built overnight. He blew out a breath, forcing himself to relax. Sam leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes, mind melding seamlessly into the city’s base drone.

“We’re going to need more coffee,” Cas mumbled, and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle.

Dean was bouncing on the spot. Sam could practically feel the floor wobble underneath them as they waited in the photo op line. It had started when their spot in line curved into the small room where the backdrop and photographer had been set up all weekend, and Dean, cool tough guy that he was, had spotted  _ him. _

“It’s  _ him,  _ Sam,” Dean muttered frantically, babbling on a loop. “He’s right there. Oh my God. He’s exactly as hot as he is on TV.”

“You’ve met him before,” Sam said quietly, putting a hand on Dean’s arm to calm him.

“And he still looks like he’s on a high definition TV,” Dean whispered. “How is his face real?”

Sam sighed, but smiled.

When they reached the front of the line, Sam took the ticket out of Dean’s hand and gave it to the volunteer, who ripped it and had them stand just behind a tape line on the carpet while they waited for the previous pair of fans to finish. Sam glanced over at Dean. His eyes were as big as saucers, and glued, absolutely  _ glued, _ on  _ him. Steve Bacic. _

They shouldn’t have gotten the in-costume option. He’d be surprised if Dean didn’t cream his jeans before they even took the photo.

The previous op finished, and the volunteer waved them forward. Steve smiled at them as they approached him, and to Dean it must have looked like the face of God. Y’know, if God was fuckable. He walked like he was floating, and Sam had to steer him with a hand on his upper back.

“Hi, guys,” Steve said, with a wide smile of straight, white teeth.

“Hi, Steve,” Dean said, in a way that sounded like he’d swallowed his tongue halfway through.

“You’re the first two-dude set I think I’ve seen this morning,” Steve laughed. “Not used to such a sausage party - did you have a pose in mind?”

“Sausage party!” Dean ducked his head and made a sound that Sam genuinely couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sob. “Good… good one.”

“Your pose, Dean?” Sam prompted gently, but his brother just kept staring awkwardly at the floor.

“Cowboy boots,” Dean mumbled under his breath.

Sam sighed with every ounce of disappointment in his body and smiled at Steve. “I apologize for my brother,” he said, taking Dean by the arm and positioning him against the backdrop, facing the photographer. “We’ll take our generic reverse-sandwich op and leave you be, thank you so much.”

Steve laughed, bless him, like he had the last time this had happened. And the time before that. He wrapped one arm around Dean’s shoulders and Sam got into position on his other side, smiling for the camera. There was a flash, and then it was over. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Sam said. He took Dean by the arm and began to lead him away.

“Thank you, guys!” Steve said.

“B-bye, Steve!” Dean called at the last possible moment.

Steve waved back at Dean, held eye contact for a moment, and then turned to greet the next customer. Sam felt Dean stop breathing.

They made their way out of the photo op room, back to the hallway where Castiel was waiting for them, clearly amused at the look on Dean’s face. “How’d it go?” Cas asked.

“What happened?” Dean asked. “I don’t… I don’t remember. Is it over?”

“Oh…” Cas cooed, with unimaginable pity in his eyes. He touched Dean’s cheek with his finger tips for an instant before laying his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean…”

Dean turned to Sam. “Did I say something cool?” He asked.

“No, you got stuck and just kind of babbled about his boots,” Sam said. “If it helps, I think he finds it funny, at least?”

Dean looked like he was about to cry. “Dammit!” He wailed. “Every friggin’ time! How does this keep happening to me!”

“It’s alright, I’m sure it’ll come out nicely,” Cas said gently. 

“How can you be sure?” Dean asked. “You weren’t even in the room.”

Cas smiled, looking at Dean, and then Sam, and back again.

“Well, you’re both so handsome,” he said.

Sam had to take a deep breath to keep himself from becoming as mindless as Dean had been a few minutes earlier.

That night’s evening programming was the center point around which the entire convention weekend revolved - the cast concert. 

Performances by all the stars, the house band taking over the main stage, and a perfectly balanced set list that got better every year. It was where the joy become absolute magic in the dark of the ballroom, and it was the highlight of Sam’s con, every con.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel all agreed: they’d forgo their daytime reserved seats and going the general admission pit on the sides of the stage. It got them closer to the action, and was the one and only dance-friendly space at the event. 

The lights dimmed, and people started to scream, and Sam’s heartbeat fluttered in his chest in anticipation of a mindblowing show.

The cast did not disappoint. Sam’s favourites made the setlist that weekend, and some beautiful new tunes, and Steve  _ fucking  _ Bacic brought the house down in an unplanned, surprise cameo. The girls in the pit with them wailed, but none as loud as Dean.

After a long show, the energy finally started to simmer, and Sam knew the dance of these concerts well enough to know the turn they were about to take together - the one that felt like coming home.

“This song is about my mom,” the man at the mic said, as he adjusted his guitar strap on his shoulder. “But it’s also a song that reminds me of you guys, and how much you’re always there for those of us up on stage tonight, and we all hope you enjoy it.”

The band started up a classic slow song, a standard of their setlist that indicated the night was nearing its end. The lead singer had hardly finished the introduction before soft pink lights were appearing overhead, tiny plastic toys held up by hundreds of people in the audience, and they began to sway as a melody was plucked out on the strings of an electric guitar.

_ “Have faith, promises were made…” _

The music filled him up, something in his chest swelling with it. Slowly, like fading into a dream, the low budget convention center and the absurd ticket prices and the distinctions between the guys on stage and the guys standing in the crowd disappeared, and it was just people. It was just love.

Movement in the corner of Sam’s eye caught his attention, and he turned to look at the other members of his party. In the jostling of the crowd over the previous hour or so, they’d shifted a little apart from him, Dean and Cas now being about two feet to the right and a little bit ahead of Sam. Dean’s right hand was high in the air with his little plastic light, his other thrown over Cas’ shoulder, and they swayed together with the ebb and flow of the crowd.

_ “-the house is empty, the floors lay naked and weary--” _

Their faces were turned in towards one another, the stage lights putting them in in the faintest glow of an outline from Sam’s perspective. The shape of Dean’s nose, the very edge of Castiel’s chin. As the first chorus came to an end, with a careful, hesitant motion, Cas’ hand slid up from Dean’s lower back to his neck, and seeming to understand, Dean bowed his head, and the little pink light then framed the curve of Cas’ throat, painting the two of them in colour as they kissed.

Sam stopped swaying. He stopped thinking. He couldn’t do anything but watch as the scene became dream-like, slow motion, and…

And this was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

_ “Last night, you left like a bird… fly away, and never be heard--” _

Sam realized, belatedly, that there were tears on his face. Uncomprehending, he wiped his cheek with his fingertips and looked at his fingers, like the tear itself would tell him why, or what to do about it. Something had reached into his chest, taken hold of his heart, and  _ squeezed. _

The only thing worse that this feeling, Sam realized, would be this feeling layered on top of the shame of crying in public, the pity he’d receive, the guilt if Dean happened to turn and realize that maybe Sam wasn’t as okay with this as he’d said he was. That thought had him taking a few steps back, and before he knew what he was doing, Sam turned and started shouldering his way through the crowd towards the door. He bumped into a few people, but nobody seemed to notice, too absorbed by the performance happening on stage.

“You alright?” Asked one of the volunteers stationed by the ballroom door. Sam hadn’t realized he was being so obvious.

_ “She can’t hear anything they’re--” _

Sam just nodded, keeping his head down. “Yeah, thanks,” he said, and slammed into the crash bar in an effort to get the hell out.

_ “Doesn’t make sense what they’re saying--” _

As the door swung shut and sealed itself behind Sam, it was like he’d walked out of the whole world. In the convention center lobby, itself a makeshift vendor’s hall, the air was cool, and still, and quiet. The vendors’ booths were covered in sheets and there wasn’t a soul around. Sam was alone. 

The concert inside was muffled through the walls, as the band finished their slow song and the crowd screamed its thanks.

This was what he’d wanted.

Sam trundled over to a wall and sat against it, not quite trusting his legs to take him all the way to the elevator, and not trusting his emotions to stay calm walking back through the well populated hotel lobby. 

Dean was the one who should be with Cas, and not just because Cas - Cee - was his first. Was his longest. He was the one because he was the right man for the job. He’d been part of Castiel’s internal life when Sam had only ever seen the mask. Sure, maybe there’d been cracks, and maybe Sam had seen the shape of him under the skin he wore like armour, but he hadn’t known who Cas was before yesterday. He hadn’t been in love with him.

But in the ballroom, that night, all of a sudden - maybe he kind of had been. 

And maybe he could have survived that, but maybe some selfish part of him was afraid of Dean loving someone good for him. Someone who could be his ‘person’ in a way Sam could never compete with. When he’d been home for less than a year, and they’d only just managed to be  _ brothers _ again.

Sam couldn’t stay on the lobby floor like this. The next song was well underway, and he sat numb through the initial “final” applause and the cry for the encore. Soon, the doors would swing open and five hundred people would walk past, and Dean and Cas would realize he was missing. He could beat them to the room, still. Get in bed and pretend he wasn’t feeling well. 

Pack his bag and make a run for the bus stop and go home, even. Fuck Sunday. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the mechanical clack of the ballroom door opening, at least two songs premature. Sam wiped his eyes, tried to make himself look a little less pathetic, and kept his eyes on the rough carpet between his knees. Whoever it was would pass through and be gone in a minute, and then he could put himself together and move.

“Sam?” The voice asked, having come close without Sam realizing. 

Sam looked up, dread in his heart, and bent over him was Castiel, looking like someone had just kicked his puppy. Fuck.

“Sorry,” Sam croaked. “Just, um, it’s a sad song, y’know?”

Cas carefully lowered himself down to sit, cross legged, in front of Sam on the floor. They sat in silence for a minute, and Sam kept his eyes away from Cas’ face, but he felt like a bug pinned to a card, or a sample under a microscope, examined with growing concern.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, soft like a whisper.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Sam said to the carpet. “You’ve got nothing--”

“I’m sorry I kissed your brother without considering how it would make you feel,” Cas clarified.

Sam didn’t have the energy to be horrified at the realization that he’d been so obvious.

He stood up, brushing off his pants and forcing himself to be upright, and respectable, and calm. “Don’t be,” he said. “This is good. You’ll be good for each other. I’m just… excuse me, I’m just gonna turn in early.”

Sam started walking towards the hotel, and Cas scrambled to his feet after him.

“Sam!” Cas called out. Sam ignored him and kept walking. A few heavy steps hit the floor and there was a hand, an iron grip on Sam’s arm, stopping him short. “Sam, please--”

“I’m not gonna give you shit, I swear,” Sam said, turning to address Cas as he gently tried to pull his arm back. “Monday morning, it’ll be like this never happened, I’ll stay out of your--”

_ “Sam,”  _ Cas said, voice firm. “Listen to me.”

Sam shut his mouth, feeling chastised, though he knew Cas had no right to chastise him. He blinked a few times, tears clearing from his eyes, fog clearing from his mind, and waited. Waited for whatever excuse Castiel was about to pour out, whatever request, and whatever it was, he’d honour it, but why couldn’t Cas just  _ leave him alone, now. _

“These conventions are very unique, for me,” Castiel said. “I get worked up, sometimes. It’s an outlet I don’t always have.”

“Well, then you’d better fucking make sure Dean knows that, Cas, because if you’re leading him on and--”

Sam stopped talking. His mouth, all at once, was occupied.

A firm hand on his jaw turned Sam’s head, and Cas was on him, pressing their lips together, sucking on his bottom lip. 

Sam's mind went blank. The numbers didn’t add up, and it shorted out the circuits, and left to the whims of his body, he kissed back.

Cas pulled away after a long minute, his hands moving to grip Sam’s upper arms, his eyes searching Sam’s face to read his reaction. The world came back to Sam in pieces, the dull roar from the other room, the dull roar of his blood rushing in his ears, the empty hall, the man who was not supposed to have just kissed him.

“I wouldn’t normally move this fast,” Cas said.

Click-swish-crash, one more person came through the ballroom door, but Sam couldn’t force himself to take his eyes off Cas.

“You found him!” Dean called out. “Christ, Sam, where’d you go?”

“I have something to say,” Cas said, addressing himself to both brothers.

Dean stopped short, a cautious look coming over him. “Okay…” He said.

“If _ Doctor Sexy, MD _ has taught me anything, it’s that love triangles are petty, hurtful, and stupid,” Cas said. “So I don’t expect you not to have concerns, but given that you two seem to be a package deal anyway, I want to make it clear that I find I like you both immensely.”

“Um,” Dean said, and didn’t continue.

_ Um _ was right. 

“You’ve known us for like thirty six hours,” Sam said, in disbelief.

“No, I haven’t,” Cas explained. “I’ve known you for months, Sam. Dean, I’ve known you for almost two years. The only thing that’s changed is we don’t have to pretend not to  _ want,  _ anymore. Not here.”

“So… So what, you’re polyamorous?” Dean asked.

“Yes--  _ No,” _ Cas stammered. “I don’t know. It’s never come up before.”

“Yes,” Sam said.

Two sets of eyes turned to him, both still wide with the blind stumble of a conversation they’d been having.

“Sorry?” Cas asked.

“It-- it would work, right?” Sam asked, feeling the adrenaline, giddy excitement, build up inside him. “Because I’ve never thought about it either, but this sure makes me wonder if monogamy is really all that great. If I can’t at least make an exception this time, for something special.”

“Seriously?” Dean asked. He seemed more confused than anything.

“If it doesn’t work, we just stop!” Sam exclaimed with a frantic kind of a shrug. “Right?”

“Um…” Cas muttered, his eyes moving around frantically as if he was trying to organize a very chaotic mind. “Yes?”

Wordlessly, Sam and Cas both looked to Dean.

“Yes,” Dean said, slowly, carefully, like he being asked to answer a trivia question he wasn’t quite sure of. “Yes,” he repeated, then, more sure.

The three men stood silently in the convention center lobby, silent and unmoving, like the words of their confessions were made of glass and they weren’t quite sure if acknowledging what had just happened would break them, somehow. Sam started looking between Dean and Cas. He caught Dean and Cas looking between each other and Sam.

“Okay,” Dean said, at long last. “Cards on the table; is that... are we boyfriends now?”

Sam laughed. It overtook him, pushing out of his chest in a suppressed huff, and building until his whole body felt light, and he felt the pull of the grin on his face like it wasn’t quite a part of him, too big to feel regular. He saw Cas pull a smile, quirking the corner of his mouth. Dean’s tension melted as he watched the other two errupt like that, and when he finally let it take him, too, his grin was wide, and dumb, and so  _ Dean. _

Inside the ballroom, the crowd exploded with applause, a heavy, bass din of cheers that went long, and loud. Sam looked toward the sound, and he was happy.

Someone - Cas - took Sam’s hand. 

“Come on,” he said softly. Sam saw him reach for Dean, too, and Dean slipped himself easily against Cas’ side, arm around his waist. “Before we have to fight for the elevator.”

Together, the three of them went upstairs to bed.

**Sunday**

When the stage talks were over, and the photos had all been taken, and the last few autographs ticket holders were in a long, slow procession along the ballroom’s back walls, there was the quiet. The long, slow time when the volunteers were disassembling the stage, and everyone but the last few guests were on flights home, and they would just sit in the ballroom with whatever new friends they’d made that weekend, refusing to leave on the long journey home until the con was well and truly over.

Slumped in his chair, Sam simmered in the relaxed, good vibes around him, seeping warmth where his knee rested against Cas’. It was a small group, this particular Sunday, but that was okay. It was a special one.

“I can’t believe that guy,” Dean laughed. He was sitting a row behind Sam and Castiel, leaning over the backs of chairs to look at the poster Cas was holding. It had several freshly inked signatures, and one freshly inked curve, indicating a crotch bulge, on Dr. Sexy himself.

“To be fair,” Cas said. “He did say he didn’t want to ruin it by signing on the crotch. And I did tell him I wouldn’t have minded.”

“So that means he can draw a dong on it?” Dean asked.

Cas chuckled. He started rolling the poster up.

“And with that,” he said. “I’m afraid I should get going. It’s a couple hours home - as you know. And bright and early tomorrow…”

“Yeah,” Sam said, unable to stop smiling, even if the smile was a tired one. “Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning, huh?”

Cas finished packing his things into his suitcase, which he’d brought in with him since they’d checked out that morning, the widow-side bed untouched. He straightened up, and turned to Sam with a soft look on his face. “Of course,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss. Just a soft brush of lips, and then he pulled away.

Cas stood and turned around. He planted one knee on the seat of his chair and leaned over the back to kiss Dean goodbye in turn.

“Text me when you get home?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” Cas said again. He looked over them fondly for just a moment longer, just a few fractions of a second too long to be meaningless. “Good night.”

“Night, Cas,” Sam and Dean both chimed, more or less in unison.

Sam watched Cas go, as he rolled his suitcase down the aisle and out of the ballroom. When Cas was out of sight, and Sam could watch him no longer, he sighed, and lay out on the row of chairs. He shut his eyes. He listened to the easy chatter all around - too faint to make out but bright in tone despite the late hour after a long weekend - and the solid  _ clunk-clunk _ of hotel workers stacking up the chairs on the other side of the room, as the event was taken apart to be shipped to the next town on the circuit.

They’d go soon. Follow Cas home. For once, leaving a convention didn’t feel like the end of something, so much as the beginning of something totally new.

“So,” Dean said. “Show’s over, huh?”

Sam hummed. “Yeah.”

“Good con?” Dean asked, teasing. Sam laughed. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Great con.”

“Best ever?”

Sam opened his eyes, looked up at Dean through the crack between two chairs. Dean was smiling down at him. Sam smiled back.

“Best yet,” he said. “But something tells me the best is yet to come.”


End file.
